THE PRINCESS GINGERLY moves every outfit in her closet from one side to the other.

My most elegant dresses for formal dinner occasions. My maidens neglected to pack anything useful on a combat starship. Not their fault. They were not informed of my impending kidnapping. Still, how many formal dinners did they think I would attend on my honeymoon?

Leeka seems as frightened about being aboard the Dragon as I was. If the girl’s culture does not wear garments, the ship-issued jumpsuits won’t be as comfortable as my regal gowns. Gowns are not practical for me anymore. Michelle removes a light-colored dress meant for a spring picnic. It was designed for movement, stain resistance for launching in the grass and maybe playing a tossing spear sport. Cutting off the lower part leaves behind a practical, non-revealing outfit. A better choice to welcome Leeka to the crew and prepare her for wearing clothes than a jumpsuit that bunches and pinches.

She lays the dress on the unmade bed. I need to learn how to properly prepare the sheets. Again, another skill I was deprived of in my palace nurturing. How was folding sheets beneath my station? The soft fibers of silk would never damage the delicate skin of my royal fingers. Not like the scissors I must allocate to alter the dress.

A Sandman screams toward Michelle. The canyon grooved into the mask prevents the swimming figures from crossing to each other. Each humanoid figure claws at the inside surface of the mask, attempting to escape.

The monster’s skeletal hand caresses the hair at the back of Michelle’s skull. Everything tells her to shriek, but as her jaw extends to its fullest distension, the monster slips into her mind.

Michelle collapses to the bed.

Resisting the urge to feed on an innocent mind, the creature sifts through memory after memory. It uncovers no corruption to exploit. It weaves into the synapses until the next best exploitable thoughts surface—childhood torments.

••••••

THUNDERCLOUDS DARKEN MICHELLE’S dreamscape.

Barefooted, Michelle races down the murky hallways of her palace home. The echoing footfalls reveal her position, perpetuating her to run. She races faster down the endless hallway to escape.

No matter how far she reaches, the exit never moves closer. She whips her head around. The dark pursuer slogs forward.

Michelle closes her eyes. The echoing of her footfalls drowns all other noises. Squinting tight always made the monsters go away. Children on Aurora were told that if they misbehaved then the Strzyga would steal children in the night and render them as food for the undead. The vampire-like monster seeps into Michelle’s dreams still when she considers not performing as a princess should behave in public.

I must escape the Strzyga. Her little feet patter toward the door—exit—safety. Not an exit. Mother’s chamber. The arms of the woman designated to protect her. Michelle bursts into the room. The much taller, weary-faced clone of herself scoops the little girl into her arms.

Safe.

Mother’s love.

Safe—

She tosses Michelle back into the hall. “A lady faces her demons.” She swings the oaken door shut.

Flickering candlelight barely illuminates the central coffin, the centerpiece of the stone chamber. Michelle’s toes find gooey wetness with each step toward the catafalque. From the dark stains on the coffin, she deduces she treads in blood.

The elongated bluish fingers of a man reach out. The lid drops off the coffin, and a humanoid man levitates toward her.

Michelle screams for Amye. She promised to protect her.

The shriveled man bears his teeth as he reaches for her throat.

Help! she panics.

His icy grip shivers Michelle’s spine. Powerless to resist, he pulls back her hair and places his mouth over her neck. Two canine teeth grow, puncturing Michelle’s delicate skin. She faints as the two sharp stabs pierce her jugular vein. Blood soaks her nightgown.